


Smolder

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Branding, Breathplay, Burns, Cigarettes, Frottage, M/M, Painplay, Shotgunning, Sibling Incest, Smoking, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking, Weecest, spn-masquerade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:59:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4888267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean rests his cigarette between his lips and looks up at Sam.</p><p>“Gotta light?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smolder

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round 3 of spn-masquerade for the prompt: All right I see Weecest and shot gunning kink a lot, and it is one of my favorites kinks, but what about Weecest and shot gunning with cigarette burns and breath play? Yeah, or fuck yeah???
> 
> Sam is 15.

Dean rests his cigarette between his lips and looks up at Sam.

 

“Gotta light?”

 

Sam nods, twisting to the side to grab a battered pack of matches off the kitchen table.  The old brass-rail chair creaks under their weight as Sam shifts in his lap.

 

Kid’s always good at finding fire.

 

Sam tears a match off and sparks it. It flares in his face, catching in his eyes, warming the soft glints of gold that dance around his pupils.

 

Sam’s getting pretty.

 

Dean sucks against the flame until his cigarette catches. He breathes in deep, drawing smoke into his lungs.  He rests the filter between his thumb and forefinger, letting his free hand wander down to Sam’s hip.

 

Seems like Sam’s less bony every day.

 

Dean presses his thumb into the little crease at the top of Sam’s thigh, rubbing in little circles against smooth skin. Sam’s growing so fast Dean can hear his bones creak but he’s still baby-soft down here like he’s always been.

 

Dean wasn’t that soft when he was 15.

 

Dean’s not soft now, not with Sam naked and snug on his lap.  Skinny legs bracket his hips, the first outlines of muscle skating up his thighs.  Sam’s been playing soccer.  Not like his ass needs to look any better.

 

He grinds forward without any urging from Dean, skating the cleft of his ass over Dean’s cock.  Sam’s naked while Dean’s still in two shirts and his sweatpants.  It’s too much material between them but Dean kind of likes it that way.

 

Dean blows smoke out the side of his mouth, watching it float just past Sam’s face.  His eyes must burn a little but Sam doesn’t blink.

 

The heat clanks on in the pipes by the sink. It’s not the nicest place they’re ever rented but it’s far from the worst.  The landlady downstairs smokes like a chimney and she’s nosy as shit, but at least the heat works and they have decent water pressure. They can work around the other things.

 

Dean takes another drag, tracking his eyes up the soft rise and fall of Sam’s chest.  Goddam soccer practice means Dean can’t mark him there.  Dean digs his hand in a little harder.

 

“Gotta be quiet, Sammy.”

 

He pushes Sam to grind against him, looking down at the swell of Sam’s cock between them.  He exhales, smoke curling around Sam’s cock and the soft, secret curls of his pubes. 

 

Sam nods, lip bitten in his teeth and his ass grinding down onto Dean’s aching cock.  There’ll be a stain the size of his fist before he takes his sweatpants off.

 

Sam’s eyes follow the arc of Dean’s cigarette back to his mouth.  Dean spoiled him early with that mouth. 

 

Dean leaves it to dangle between his lips as he cups Sam’s ass in his hands, greedy for all that skin even Sam’s locker room buddies don’t get to see.  The parts that are just for Dean.

 

His fingers drag across soft skin and the small smattering of zits Sam always seems to spring up when he spends too much time in sweaty clothes.  Sam always blushes but Dean secretly loves them. 

 

Sam’s getting pretty but Dean still likes the blistered parts best.

 

He skates his fingers along the cleft of Sam’s ass, tucking in just enough to feel the softer tack of the skin around his hole. If he pressed in he’d slip in easy. He’d sent Sam to school with a present that morning.

 

But Sam’s all showered and clean after practice, so Dean just trails his fingers until Sam arches back, whining. The grind feels sweet on his dick but Dean wants him closer.

 

He pulls Sam in with one palm flat on his back while the other hand clamps his smoke between his index and middle fingers. He takes a drag, eyes on Sam, patiently ignoring the fat twitch of Sam’s dick against him.

 

Sam’s arms drape over him, forearms resting on Dean’s shoulders and his fingers threaded through the top rail of the chair. Sam’s hands get bigger and bigger every day, just like the rest of him.  His weight presses into Dean’s thighs, heavy and threatening numbness tingling behind his knees.

 

Sam used to feel like nothing in his lap.

 

Dean arches an eyebrow and presses his fingers over his lips, cigarette still poised between them.  Sam’s throat works as he watches.

 

“Shhh,” Dean whispers, pursing his lips to exhale between them as he shakes his head. 

 

“Dean.”

 

Sam says it soft, like Dad’ll still hear them two states away.  Landlady be damned, they could get loud if they wanted to but it’s better like this, Sam begging wordless with his bangs in his face and those tiny circles of his hips.

 

Sam can get as big as he likes, he’ll always be Dean’s little secret.

 

Sam’s heart beats rabbit-fast when Dean presses his cheek to Sam’s chest, kissing him softly.  Sam’s all soap-scrubbed but Dean can still ferret out the scent of him beneath that clean shell.

 

He tilts his forehead against Sam’s chest, looking down.  Sam’s hands aren’t the only thing that gets bigger every day.  He’ll suck Sam off later, after he sweats off that locker room lather. After he smells a little more like Dean.

 

Dean leans back, nodding softly at the little blinks Sam makes.  Sam knows he’ll get his if he’s patient.

 

The ember of his cigarette wisps smoke as he reaches across to grab Sam’s hand with his own.  He guides Sam to wrap a hand around himself, letting the hot tip between his fingers skate close to Sam’s skin.

 

Sam’s lips tremble.

 

He starts to jerk himself slow, thumb smearing over the head to wet his way.  Dean’s cock twitches beneath the press of Sam’s ass.  Dean’ll get his later.

 

“Need a little help there, Sammy?”

 

Sam’s too strung out to look bitchy but he sure does try. 

 

“Dean, c’mon.”

 

Dean started sucking his brother off before he could handle a gun.  Sam could barely drive when Dean fucked his ass for the first time.  Sam had been a teenager for all of a week when Dean realized that even as fucked up as all that was, the only thing that really gave him pause was how much Sam wanted it to hurt sometimes.

 

“Need it.”

 

Dean never could say no to him.

 

He takes another drag before he presses his free thumb into the bow curve of Sam’s lower lip.  Sam chases it down to let Dean kiss into his mouth, licking him open with breath held until he feels Sam’s lips open against his. He breathes into Sam’s sweet, willing mouth, tar smoke and nicotine rushing over all that Colgate clean until his lungs are empty.

 

“Can’t make a sound, Sammy.”

 

He sweeps his hand up, clamping it over Sam’s mouth, thumb and forefinger sealing his nose.  Sam’s eyes are wide and wet, darting between Dean’s face and the cigarette burning beside it.

 

He hasn’t stopped stroking himself.

 

There’s a line of fresh spots on Sam’s thigh, high up between the V of his stomach and the swell of his dick.  Some are newer than others, pink and red and scar tissue smooth, healing, healed but never really gone.  Dean picks a spot just below the oldest one.

 

Sam’s face is red, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes as he holds his breath, smoke inside him as his hand flies over his dick.  It sounds wet and desperate, a slick heartbeat throbbing faster than the one beating under Dean’s hand.

 

“You trust me?”

 

Sam nods frantically, eyes wide and his jaw working against Dean’s firm hand. 

 

The ember burn of Dean’s cigarette sinks into virgin skin as Sam comes.

 

Dean snatches his hand off Sam’s mouth and clamps it over the back of his neck.  Smoke pours out of his open mouth but he doesn’t make a sound, not his Sammy. He just clenches his teeth and hisses, broken sounds in his throat going right to Dean’s cock. He’s rigid on top of Dean, muscles taut as his cock shoots wet over his clenched fist. 

 

Dean tosses the cigarette aside and closes his hand over Sam’s, milking the last drops of his orgasm out of him, rubbing his neck as Sam pants and sighs above him.  Come oozes onto the webbing of his thumb as Sam starts to go lax.

 

Sam used to feel boneless and soft like this all the time, all the million times Dean’s picked his sleeping brother up from the back seat and carried him inside, carried him to bed after bed, shouldered his weight because Sam would let him do anything.

 

Sam’s not always sweet like that any more.

 

Dean slides down a little, spreading his legs until Sam’s blissed out weight sits perfect on his cock.  Sam’s sweet now, high on whatever it is that makes him like this, whatever Dean’s breathed into him and sucked out of him. 

 

“Make me come, Sammy.”

 

It sounds like less of a command than it should but Sam won’t notice.  He moans, out of it and raspy as he grinds down on Dean, practiced and sure in his pace. Sam grips one hand on the chair and drags the other one to Dean’s mouth, just as sure in what Dean wants as Dean is that Sam’ll be begging him for another burn before this one even blisters up.

 

Sam’s fingers slide into his mouth, come slipping onto Dean’s tongue as he sucks, breathing deep and rutting up into his brother. Dean’s fingers smell like tar but Sam’s never will.  Dean won’t let him smoke his own cigarettes.

 

Dean comes hard, one of those ground-out orgasms that he rips out of himself through sheer will, too much fabric between him and Sam to get what his body really wants. 

 

Maybe Dean needs it to hurt a little too.

 

“You good?”

 

Sam laughs, fox eyes heavy like he’s stoned. He’s beautiful.

 

“I’m good.”

 

He kisses Dean deep, smoke and come and the biting drag of his teeth over Dean’s lip.  He rests his forehead on Dean’s, looking down.  The half-moon of his fingernail presses in next to the full circle of his new burn, thumb pressed white against red-raw flesh. 

 

Sam’s skin will heal but the scars never really go away.

 

 


End file.
